Well, I made it through another countdown. Thanks for your interest and support!
In the proper spirit of the thing, I’ve indulged and reserved my very favourite Hallowe’en treat for last, and that’s a Joe Gill–Steve Ditko chiller — for the second consecutive year!
I’ve always adored this one for its adroit juggling of hushed atmosphere and giggles, its casually dropped hints and layered subtlety. Ditko really had no peer when it came to insinuating his narrator into the visual tapestry. In this case, his first and finest host, Mr. L. Dedd (or I. M. Dedd, depending on the source). Ditko is clearly having a ball.
Unless I’m mistaken, Steve Ditko always inked himself (and sometimes gloriously inked Kirby) until 1964, when George Roussos as ‘George Bell‘ (seemingly using the wrong end of the brush, sorry) inked Ditko’s pencils on a trio of early Doctor Strange episodes (Strange Tales nos. 123-125, if you must know).
Even while working at Marvel, Ditko (wisely) kept working for Charlton. At his busiest, he was assigned an inker on a revival of Captain Atom, Rocco ‘Rocke’ Mastroserio, and the combination bore splendid fruit. Ditko was one of those cartoonists who laid down the basics in the pencils, then had most of his fun in fleshing them out in ink. Finishing Ditko’s layouts wasn’t a task just any Joe could handle, as the ensuing years would bear out.
And so we’re done, countdown-wise, for another year. If that’s not quite sufficient to slake your loathsome lust, promenade yourself through our bloated-by-now archives, at this point two hundred and seventeen posts strong :
Wishing you all a hair-raising Hallowe’en — thanks for all the creepy loitering!
-RG
*did I imagine that someone (David Mamet?) once said that her name sounded like ‘a bowling ball tumbling down the stairs’? It may have been meant as a compliment.
« Addams’ idea of a bracing day’s outing is to visit an insane asylum. He takes a kind and friendly interest in the inmates and will chat with them unselfconsciously by the hour. “They have a refreshing conversational approach,” he says. » — John Kobler
For this, the penultimate entry in this year’s Hallowe’en, I’ve reached for one of the most prized items in my collection: a book I apparently picked up for 10 dollars in the 1990s… it’s a bit hazy. It was originally given to (or by) one ‘Sadleir’ on December 25, 1950.
Coming upon the tome while browsing the general humour section, I vaguely recall being intrigued by its title, ‘Afternoon in the Attic’, and upon realising that it was illustrated by Charles Addams, the deal was sealed.
Since most of you won’t make it past the paywall, here’s part of the author’s New York Times obituary:
« John Kobler, a writer whose early days on the crime beat resounded in an enduring biography of Al Capone, died on Monday in Manhattan. He was 90.
He was born in Mount Vernon, N.Y., and was a 1931 graduate of Williams College. He worked for various news organizations as a reporter before editing the crime reportage of PM, a 1940’s New York tabloid.
In World War II he was a civilian intelligence officer posted to North Africa, Italy and France, where he was attached to the United States Embassy. He returned to freelance for The New Yorker, Colliers, Vanity Fair and The Saturday Evening Post. His first book, published in 1938, was ”The Trial of Ruth Snyder and Judd Gray.’‘ It interwove trial testimony with commentary about a notorious 1927 murder case. ”Some Like It Gory” (1940) and ”Afternoon in the Attic” (1950) were collected essays about bizarre crimes and creepy characters. ”Afternoon’‘ was illustrated by Charles Addams.
He was best known for ”Capone: The Life and World of Al Capone,” a biography published in 1971 and reissued most recently in 1992 by Da Capo Press. It remains in print, as does ”Ardent Spirits: The Rise and Fall of Prohibition” (Da Capo, 1993).
He also wrote biographies about Henry Luce (1968), John Barrymore (1977) and Otto Kahn (1989), the banker and arts patron. His favorite among them was ”The Reluctant Surgeon: A Biography of John Hunter’‘ (1960), the 18th-century Scottish anatomist and precursor of modern surgery (1960). » [ source ]
My copy had already shed its dust jacket by the time it came into my possession, but the cover image was also used as a frontispiece.While Kobler provides what’s likely the definitive biographical essay on Charles Addams (at 10 1/2 pages), Addams, in return, gives us this picture presumably worth the proverbial thousand words.
For this post, I’ll stick to a single essay, the one entitled « Next Week: Murder in a Madhouse ».
The introductory illustration…« Satisfied customers », quips the caption.
« The seats in front of me were occupied by an American family — father, mother, two girls and a small boy. “I just can’t bear it,” mother was saying, “I just won’t look.” The girls were chewing their programs which bore the Grand Gignol trade mark – a bat with a man’s head. The small boy, who I felt sure was a connoisseur of American comics, sat unruffled and superior. “Kid stuff,” he snarled. “Quiet!” said father, who seemed uncertain what his proper attitude ought to be. “The curtain’s going up.”
The climax bursts with all the restraint of a fire alarm. While Hunchback and Normandy Woman pinion Louise’s arms, One-Eye goes after the cuckoo bird with a knitting needle. Blood splashes all over everybody. (“Heavens!” mother gasped, forgetting not to look.) Louise’s screams shiver the scenery.
But a super climax is yet to come. Hunchback and Normandy Woman, suddenly fearful of what they have done, turn on One-Eye and force her face down upon a hot stove where it sizzles in a jet of smoke and flame like a barbecued mutton chop…
That was enough for father. He herded his family through the exit amid the shrill protests of the small boy who did not want to miss the rest of the program. What he missed included a maniac who disembowels small boys, a woman who gets shot in the head by a gangster and, sandwiched between for comic relief, a bedroom farce with lines never intended for little pitchers to hear, all of it staged with determined realism. »
« Life is like a maze in which you try to avoid the exit. » — Roger von Oech
Some time in the late 1980s, a friend handed me a book, challenging me — I guess — to “see if I could work out the solution.”
He had, however, misread me: altogether lacking that flavour of ambition, I wasn’t in the slightest interested in solving the riddle. Instead, I was quite content to wallow in the uncanny ambiance and enjoy the stunningly wrought textual clues.
This is Maze (1985, Holt, Rinehart and Winston), written and illustrated by Christopher Manson; Amy Hill, designer.
« This is not really a book. This is a building in the shape of a book… a maze. Each numbered page depicts a room in the Maze. The doors in each room lead to other rooms. For example, the room on page 1 has doors leading to rooms 20, 26, 41, and 21. To go through door number 20, simply turn to page 20. Your challenge is to find your way from room 1 to room 45 and then back to room 1 using the shortest possible path. If you use your head, you should be able to make the journey in only sixteen steps. »
« … a gloomy, cavelike place far underground. Even I was oppressed by the weight that hung over our heads. A very small hole, high above, admitted a feeble light. »« … what appeared to be an old storeroom. Dust obscured a damaged painting, making it hard to understand just what the artist had intended. »« … one of the biggest rooms in the House. All three doorways were dark. “Afraid to go out?” I asked. »« … a much warmer room. Shadows danced across the floor to the fire’s music. »« … a dramatic room with four entrances and exits. “Not enough light in here,” they remarked. “Not very tidy either.” »« … a darkened chamber dominated by a large figure. We could see that someone had been working here recently; the entrance I had so carefully hidden had been uncovered. I made a note to return as soon as I could and fill in the hole again. »« … a melancholy little courtyard surrounded by a brick wall too high to see over. A dead tree lifted its bone-white branches to a sky filling with gray clouds. »« … what appeared to be someone’s basement. One of them sank gratefully down on an old couch which promptly collapsed. »« … the foundations of the Maze. Deep underground stones had been carved and fitted; passage opened in the natural rock. »
Nearly four decades after its publication, Maze’s mystique endures. And interest resolutely lingers, which I salute. Apparently, Maze belongs to a genre termed ‘ergodic fiction‘.
Should you wish to try your hand at the task, the entire book’s available to peruse here.
« If anything, I consider myself non-violent. I’m from the hippy era, peace, love, groovy. » — Rick James
1968 wasn’t exactly a banner year for Harry Shorten and Wally Wood‘s Tower Comics (1965-69); Wood’s flagship title, T.H.U.N.D.E.R. Agents, was down to running a mixture of reprints and inventory, and a mere two issues were cover-dated 1968. A final number, the 20th, limped onto newsstands a full year after its predecessor.
So it’s understandable that Wood started casting around for plan B. He gave Archie a try. It didn’t take… surely his fellow Tower editor and Archie refugee Samm Schwartz must have tried to warn him. Oh well.
« Our Monster Is Hip. Oh, Where Did We Slip? », most likely scripted by Archie mainstay George Gladir (1925-2013), appeared in Archie’s Madhouse no. 64 (Oct. 1968).
As far as I know, this was the only story Wood drew for Archie Comics, at least in their usual humorous mode. In the ’70’s, he would provide finishes over Jack Abel‘s pencils on one story (« Devil Rider », Red Circle Sorcery no. 10, Dec. 1974) for the interesting but short-lived, Gray Morrow-directed Red Circle Comics Group, a more ‘mature’ Archie offshoot… and that’s it.
« I’d rather have my stuff in pulp magazines where people can see it than in a museum where they don’t. » — Lee Brown Coye
Despite the passing of nearly a century, a lot of Weird Tales (“The Unique Magazine”) illustrators are somewhat well-remembered today: Virgil Finlay for his stunning, eyesight-ruining pointillist technique, Margaret Brundage for the cheesecake, Hannes Bok — more pointillism – for his graphic invention…
My own favourites are inarguably the true-blue weirdos in the deck, Matt Fox and Lee Brown Coye (who, at five foot ten and 136 pounds when the Army deemed him unfit for service, kiddingly referred to himself as ‘Lean Brown Cow’); while Fox created a fine passel of WT covers, that frankly wasn’t Coye’s forte, though he did produce his share. In truth, the starkness of black and white was his element.
Now, I could go on quite a bit about Mr. Coye, but as I always do in such cases, I’ll sharpen my focus. So focus I shall: on Weirdisms, a semi-regular feature LBC enjoyed in the pulpy pages of Weird Tales for a couple of years, circa the late 1940s — a precursor, if you will, to Warren’s Creepy’s Loathsome Lore a couple of decades later.
Such a striking composition! This is “Witch-finder”, from the November, 1949 Weird Tales.“Witchcraft”, from Weird Tales’ issue of September, 1948. Written by E. Crosby Michel.“Witch-finder Matthew Hopkins”, from the March, 1950 Weird Tales. If Vincent Price is a bit too arch and camp for your taste, check him out in Michael Reeves‘ brutal Witchfinder General (1968). “Imp” appeared in the January, 1949 issue of Weird Tales.“Medicine Men”, from Weird Tales’ March, 1949 edition. I’d surmise it unlikely for a platypus to wind up as a wizard’s pet… but it certainly works thematically.“Sabbat witches”, written by E. Crosby Michel, saw print in the May, 1948 Weird Tales.“Vampires”, from the July, 1947 issue of Weird Tales. Written by E. Crosby Michel.“Witches”, written by E. Crosby Michel, from Weird Tales’ January, 1948 issue.“Wizards and Witches”, from Weird Tales’ March, 1949 issue. I wonder whether their pet boar helps them locate and dig up delicious truffles.
Incidentally, I recommend to the interested Luis Ortiz’s fine Arts Unknown: the Life and Art of Lee Brown Coye (Nonstop Press, NY, 2005), as well as Pulp Macabre: The Art of Lee Brown Coye’s Final and Darkest Era (2015, Sacred Bones). Oh, and Matt Fox is finally getting his own deluxe monograph, which I preordered ages ago and is about to emerge, The Chillingly Weird Art of Matt Fox (2023, TwoMorrows); here’s a preview. I trust Rascally Roy Thomas won’t be ordering a copy.
« It is the job of thinking people not to be on the side of the executioners. » — Albert Camus
Another day, another executioner… funny how these patterns emerge unbidden.
Jerry Grandenetti, with his tenebrous depths and oppressive angles, is another artist I’ve always strongly associated with Autumn and Hallowe’en. While the greater part of his work at DC Comics was war fare for Bob Kanigher, my heart pounds for his spooky work for editor Murray Boltinoff‘s 70’s stable of titles (The Witching Hour, Ghosts, and The Unexpected).
This particular tale marks a rare foray outside of the well-trod paths of formula and so-called ‘O. Henry’, or twist endings. Writer Bill Dehenny (an alias of editor Boltinoff’s, actually) ushers in midlife doldrums and attendant shades of moral grey, an unusually open, downright existential ending, elements scarcely encountered in DC ‘mystery’ comics of the era. Hell, there’s even a bird named Engelbert!
End of an Executioner was published in The Witching Hour no. 26 (Dec. 1972, DC), just after Brian Garfield’s Death Wish and well before Michael Winner’s film adaptation/distortion.
What’ll he do? Will he go the Bronson /Neeson vigilante route — or turn his back on the old family tradition?
To be honest, while Loro’s artwork was often inspired, Déboires’ gags mostly fell flat; I presume that the creators had no idea how hoary these monster jokes had become, not having been exposed to the likes of Famous Monsters of Filmland, Topps’ ‘You’ll Die Laughing‘ card set, Mad, Cracked, Sick… and all the glut of parody mags. However, Loro was for a time — and right from the start — editor of the French edition of Warren’s Creepy, which was, imho, superior to the original thanks to better printing and, most significantly, its brand-new, first-rate documentary material created by Midi Minuit Fantastique alumni, replacing Warren’s cool, but repetitive in-house Captain Company adverts.
Here are the strips I consider standouts. Just a few years on, Loro would attain his peak with the early cases of gumshoe Abel Dopeulapeul, whom we’ve featured a few years back. Contrast and compare!
Volume one of Déboires d’outre-tombe (1981, Éditions du Cygne).Volume two of Déboires d’outre-tombe (1982, Éditions du Cygne).« You can tell a good workman by his tools!!! »Loro was clearly catching a lot of Hammer films of the era.The plot, in a nutshell: Bertille constantly henpecks her husband because of his general rakishness and lack of gainful employment. Oh, but he’s found a job, he claims. Just then, she’s anonymously denounced as a witch. « I told you, Bertille. You see… I’ve found some work. »« So, what have you done today as a bad action? » « I took the orphans from the youth club to the beach for a swim… » « And what’s so evil about that? » « The sharks… »
If you remember my enthusiastic blabbering about Ben Sears (see Convivial Meals, Spirited Skirmishes: Ben Sears’ Double+ Adventures if you don’t!), you may recall that I mentioned some self-published short stories featuring a trash cleanup robot, a cat and a bird. After writing that initial post, I ordered a few of these comics from Sears’ website, whatever was available at the time. Two of these stories are perfectly appropriate for Halloween (as a matter of fact, they’re now being touted as a Halloween Three Pack). Here are a couple of pages, then, from Petroleum Spirit Daze and The Sweeper & the Graveyard Shift, and after you’re done with soaking up some of that fog-bound atmosphere, head over and purchase a couple for yourself (as a matter of fact, I ordered a few more… writing for this blog is clearly detrimental to my budget, alas).
First up is Petroleum Spirit Daze. It’s quite short, so it was a bit difficult to choose some pages without revealing the plot, but I think the following give a good sense of the story’s expert cocktail of spooky shenanigans tempered with the spirit of adventure and a solid moral compass. Like most Sears narratives, this one would surely interest kids (thanks to the young protagonist as well as easy, evenly-paced storytelling) and unjaded adults alike. Personally, I think Halloween is best appreciated through the eyes of somebody who can still marvel at some bat-shaped shadows or a lit-up pumpkin.
The second offering today is mute, The Sweeper & the Graveyard Shift, 2021. « The Sweeper gang has relocated to Bolt City, and added a new member: Rocky the dog. Their first job is to clean the run-down cemetery outside of town. What will they find after the gates close and the sun goes down? » As with a lot of Ben Sears offerings, I kind of want to inhabit that world, where one can roam with an animal-and-robot crew, all corners are pleasingly rounded (even furniture – no more bruises when accidentally crashing into a sharp corner!), and ghosts float about after midnight to ensure their graveyard is properly cleaned.
« I didn’t say she was dead, I said I killed her. » — Barnabas Collins
… and speaking of that tormented bloodsucker, Mr. Barnabas Collins — mentioned in passing just yesterday — here’s a look at the short-lived (fifty-two contracted-for weeks, just like Daniel Pinkwater and Tony Auth’s Norb) syndicated strip that appeared at the tail end of Dan Curtis‘ preeminent supernatural soap opera‘s run (1966-71). The strip was likely scripted — at least in part — by Little Abner creator Al Capp‘s prolific brother Elliot Caplin (who also had a hand in the creation of Russell Myers’ Broom Hilda around the same time!)
Dark Shadows, the comic strip, was illustrated by veteran cartoonist Kenneth Bald (1920-2019), who’d worked for Fawcett, ACG and Atlas before judiciously decamping to the more rewarding and respectable milieu of syndicated newspaper strips, first with Judd Saxon (1957-1963) and then with Doctor Kildare (1962-1984).
The March 28, 1971 strip. While I’m not inclined towards photo-aided realism in comics, Bald was such a master of the mise-en-scène — that is to say layout and pacing, that he rarely failed to draw me in, as opposed to, say, more acclaimed photo reference addicts such as Al Williamson or Gray Morrow. April 25, 1971.June 6, 1971.July 11, 1971.August 29, 1971.
December 12, 1971. Richard Howell explains: « The Dark Shadows strip also invoked a very unusual use of coloring techniques (for the Sunday instalment), which eschewed a realistic look in favor of underscoring the strip’s mood (including a meaningful experimentation with color knock-outs done in harmonious gradations in the same color families). The first two Sundays were colored by Bald himself, who gave it up due to dissatisfaction after seeing the printed versions, and the extensive amount of time it took him to achieve the color effects he wanted. »
Here’s a trio of examples as they showed up in (news)print.
May 2, 1971.September 26, 1971.October 24, 1971.In 1996, the strip was collected in more than satisfactory fashion by Pomegranate Press — colour might have been financially prohibitive — in no small part thanks to superb documentary material provided by Ken Bald and cartoonist and longtime DS fan Richard Howell. An actual fan, unlike, say, Tim Burton*.
-RG
*despite getting a free pass to see it, the abomination that was Burton and Johnny Depp’s franchise-murdering Dark Shadows (2012) made me want to scream for a refund. Or the perpetrators’ heads on spikes.
The 1965-1975 decade sure provided popular culture with a generous array of unforgettable vampires, among them Barnabas Collins (1967), Count Chocula (1971), Con Von Count and Blacula, both 1972… and of course the ever-playful Count Morbida (1974).
Five years to the day, we have been granted (mercy me!) another audience with that most colourful of neck-nibblers — do watch out, he’s quite a tricky one!
An earlier, darker (so to speak) version of Morbida, which appeared in Dynamite no. 5 (Nov. 1974, Scholastic). All text by Linda Williams Aber and illustrations by Arthur Friedman.The Count tries his hand at operating a fruit stand in Dynamite no. 21 (March 1976, Scholastic).Morbida went to the hop in Dynamite no. 24 (June 1976, Scholastic), cover-featuring Elvis the Pelvis.This lovely Holiday greeting card was provided with Dynamite no. 30 (Dec. 1976, Scholastic). The Count is all at sea in Dynamite no. 33 (March 1977, Scholastic), which cover-featured The Captain and Tennille!This sheet of party stickers was throw in with Dynamite no. 12 (June 1975, Scholastic), which cover-featured the good Count.
Who's Out There? 